


This Is the Way the Gentlemen Ride

by Lauralot



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Butt Plugs, HYDRA Trash Party, M/M, Overstimulation, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Sexual Frustration, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-01
Updated: 2014-09-01
Packaged: 2018-02-15 16:23:59
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,478
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2235597
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lauralot/pseuds/Lauralot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Soldier is always a work of art in combat, a masterpiece, but usually he’s all harsh and steady lines and now he’s a mess of trembling brushstrokes. It’s almost pitiable: he’s trying so hard to be good.</p><p>Rumlow doesn't intend to let him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is the Way the Gentlemen Ride

**Author's Note:**

> Written for [this prompt](http://hydratrashmeme.dreamwidth.org/587.html?thread=367435#cmt367435) on the HYDRA Trash Meme: _The Winter Soldier fights all of his battles with a butt plug pressed right against his prostate and keeping the cum of his handlers in._ Much of the inspiration was also taken from the comments below it.
> 
> Most of the trashy things I write tend to be more plot-based. This is straight up pornography, mostly because I've never written straight up pornography before and was curious to see if I could do so.

The Soldier’s taken the cock of every agent on the team by the time Rumlow slides the plug in, but his body still has to stretch to accommodate it, entrance sore and reddened around the toy’s base. Sure, it would be smarter to let the Soldier stand and wipe away their combined seed as it trickles down his legs. If Pierce finds out about this, it’ll be Rumlow getting his ass reamed. Probably literally. Maybe even by the asset himself, in front of the team, to really drive the point home. Much smarter just to clean the Soldier off.

But where’s the fun in that?

Rumlow walks his fingers up the Soldier’s legs, but there’s no reaction; HYDRA’s pet is too well-trained. There are little splatters of come on the Soldier’s thighs—what slipped free before the plug went in—and he wipes them away, then holds his soiled fingers in the Soldier’s line of sight. “Look what a mess you are,” Rumlow whispers in his ear, and he knows the Soldier’s flush is from shame rather than arousal, the way his flesh lies neglected and only half-hard between his legs.

He wipes his fingers clean against the Soldier’s mask, smacking his free hand against the base of the plug. The Soldier’s hips cant back, breath hitching behind the muzzle, and his cock twitches. Rumlow smirks as he pulls the Soldier’s pants back up, laughing when the Soldier makes a low sound in his throat as the canvas of his trousers brushes against his surely aching erection.

“On your feet,” Rumlow orders, “and get to the van.”

The Soldier stands slowly but impressively and disappointingly smoothly. Only his eyes, questioning and longing and intoxicating, belie the polished exterior and hint at the need burning within.

“I’m not taking it out.” Rumlow taps at the seed staining the Soldier’s mask. “You can’t be trusted to keep yourself clean.” He drops that hand, grinding the palm against the tightening crotch of the Soldier’s pants, and hisses “Don’t make any more of a mess” over the Soldier’s gasp. Rumlow turns to go without a glance back.

By pure coincidence, the fastest route to their mission is also the roughest.

The shocks in the van Rumlow and the Soldier share are long overdue for replacement and every bump in the road—and there are many—jostles the vehicle, making it a struggle just to sit upright. But the Soldier sits still as stone, eyes wide and watering. He does not fidget. His hair is dampening with sweat, each breath loud and shaking, and his hands clench against the fabric at his thighs, but he sits so very still. It’s almost cute, watching his body and training clash.

“Cute” isn’t the word Rumlow would use to describe the Soldier when he launches himself from the van at his targets. The Soldier is always a work of art in combat, a masterpiece, but usually he’s all harsh and steady lines and now he’s a mess of trembling brushstrokes. He’s no less deadly and efficient, but he’s fighting with unnecessary brutality—even for him—incorporating more kicking and jumping into his motions than Rumlow thinks is needed. It’s a real shame the muzzle’s on; Rumlow wants to see those perfect lips behind it, wants to know if they’re pouting or twisting in little strangled moans.

After the Soldier delivers the killing blow his hips thrust once against the open air. Only once. His body is trembling and sweat-soaked and clearly needing more, but the Soldier is obedient above all things and he’s been ordered not to make a mess. It’s almost pitiable: he’s trying so hard to be good.

Rumlow doesn’t intend to let him.

The Soldier is oh so carefully and stiffly stepping back into the van when Rumlow swats a hand across his ass, an easy grin on his face and a casual “Good job, Soldier” at his lips.

The Soldier does not fall, not exactly. He sinks to his knees, body doubled in on itself and almost convulsing, thighs clenched and the nails of his right hand scraping against the metal floor. His breaths are rapid, desperate, tears trickling down his cheeks. It’s beautiful. The Soldier moans like he’s dying, but he’s managing to compose himself and that’s no fun at all.

It’s a shame it isn’t a vibrating plug. Rumlow imagines letting the Soldier regain most of his control and then flipping the switch. Next time.

“Are you all right, Soldier?” Rumlow asks softly, his grin so wide it hurts, and the Soldier doesn’t answer. Maybe he’s forgotten how to speak.

Leaving him kneeling on the floor and ordering their driver down the back roads until the inevitable occurs is a tempting proposition. But, struck by inspiration, Rumlow runs a hand down the Soldier’s hair and tsks at the violent shudder in response to the unexpected touch. “You’re not being bad, are you? You wouldn’t misbehave for me.”

He thinks the Soldier tries to speak, but the result is an unintelligible, breathless muffle.

“Stand up,” Rumlow orders, and the Soldier is slow but without hesitation. As soon as he’s upright Rumlow’s hand is down his straining pants, and of course the Soldier’s wet. He hasn’t shot off, he’s still painfully hard, but his cock is drooling and his briefs are soaked with it. The Soldier keens, thrusting into the touch, and when Rumlow pulls his hand free, there are tears of frustration from the Soldier’s eyes again.

“What do you have to say for yourself?” Rumlow asks. The Soldier is radiating waves of shame and need, little whimpers not fully stifled by the muzzle slipping from him. Rumlow shakes his head, feigns disgust. “Sit down.”

He waits until the Soldier is already crouching back toward the floor to correct him. “No, here.” Rumlow indicates his own lap. “Can’t let you out of my sight, can I?”

It’s with a long, shuddering sigh that the Soldier lowers himself onto Rumlow. He sits with his ass nearly at Rumlow’s hips, as far back as he can fit. It’s probably a position he chose in the hopes of making the ride smoother. Rumlow just chuckles, placing his hands on the Soldier’s waist and pushing him forward. It must make the plug drag against his prostate, judging from the choked sob the Soldier can’t contain. Rumlow smacks his thigh, shushes him, and doesn’t stop until the Soldier’s ass is resting right on his knee, each leg forced to either side.

They ride in silence for all of thirty seconds before Rumlow begins bouncing his knee.

The Soldier nearly shrieks and only the hands at his waist combined with his training keep him from bolting upright. His body rocks back against Rumlow’s leg in a probably involuntary reaction, another sob bubbling up from his chest. Desire wins out over programming and the Soldier is writhing, grinding back against Rumlow’s knee, a gasping chorus of “Please please _please_ ” from his lips.

“Behave,” Rumlow admonishes. His hands slide to the Soldier’s hips, stilling his squirming and pressing him down harder into the force of Rumlow’s jostling movements. The Soldier is whining, begging, positively hysterical. He’s trying with every ounce of stamina left to be a good boy and that lasts for all of ten more seconds.

The Soldier’s thighs tighten around Rumlow’s leg, dragging forward as his hips thrust again and again despite the hold on them. His hands clench on his knees, shoulders drawing forward as his head falls back. What little that’s visible of his face is glistening with tears, a mix of broken sobs and stammered breaths muffled behind the mask. His body is shaking, first with release and then with the aftershocks.

With a sigh, Rumlow drops his hand into the Soldier’s lap, ignoring the flinch through the man as he strokes the wet fabric of the Soldier’s crotch. “What did I tell you?” He grabs the Soldier’s hair, tugs his head to face him. “You know what happens when you’re bad. Get up.”

Even with his super soldier stamina, Rumlow’s surprised the Soldier manages to stay on his feet when he straightens. He doesn’t express that, though, making short work of tugging down the Soldier’s pants and using them to wipe at his spent cock. The Soldier whimpers, oversensitive, but Rumlow grabs him, forcing the Soldier down until he’s lying, ass up, across Rumlow’s lap.

“I’m going to have to teach you a lesson,” Rumlow says, running his hand up and down the Soldier’s backside. “Every time you make a noise, you earn another hit. And if you make a mess on me, you’re really gonna get it. One.”

His hand smacks directly down on the plug and the Soldier wails. His dick, limp and surely painful to the touch, twitches against Rumlow’s thigh. “Two.”

This is going to be a great day.

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from a nursery rhyme lap-bouncing game, [This is the Way the Ladies Ride.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=XPW0a4iswdQ) It's played by letting a child sit on one's lap and bouncing the legs in accordance with the various parts of the rhyme. In other news, I am going to hell, but I feel that was already established.


End file.
